


Love, in Actuality

by degausserbaby



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2767724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/degausserbaby/pseuds/degausserbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy is completely undone, insides threatening to sop out with the simplest push. The wedding, with its sentimental speeches that Thomas rolled his eyes at as a three year-old ruined his tailored suit and Edward Courtenay teasing Thomas, making him laugh. The big laugh where he shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, nearly sent Jimmy over the edge. Which is why when Thomas texted him that he was having a minor post-wedding emergency, Jimmy couldn’t tell him to piss off like he typically would, like he wanted to. That’s why he was facing a man few inches taller than himself, in a navy pea coat and he has a My Little Pony sticker, Sybbie’s work, Jimmy imagines, on the left pocket. Thomas is on his doorstep, pink-cheeked from the chill and gorgeous, devastatingly so.</p><p>A Love, Actually AU of the Mark and Juliet variety that no one ever wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, in Actuality

Sybil and Tom’s wedding had gone off without a hitch, thanks mostly to Thomas Barrow and Mary Crawley’s propensity for detail, proprietary, and extreme planning. An irony not lost on Jimmy Kent, who knew of Barrow’s past and Mary’s present transgressions. Mary’s present transgression was currently dancing with his kind wife. Matthew would no doubt get into the eggnog and end up in the coatroom with his hand shoved up Mary’s dress by midnight. Seeing as it happened at every event since Matthew had come into their lives, why would Sybil’s wedding be any different. Seemingly everyone who had ever worked at Downton Inn was invited. He had to make polite conversation with Carson and Hughes for over twenty minutes. It was awful.

He sat on what could only be described as a “classy folding chair,” which he could perfectly imagine Thomas and Mary squabbling over (“Mauve cushions, Crawley.” “No, violet.” “Mauve.” “I’m the lady of this house and her older sister.” “Gay best friend trumps lady and sister.” “I wonder what Sybil would think of adding a touch of green.” “You wouldn’t.” “I think we both know I would.” “... _fine_ , violet.”). He sits right on the edge on the dancefloor, filming Edith and Thomas as they dance. A solitary hobby of his, which gave him some creative outlet during his lifeless position as a bartender at Downton Inn. He now works for an ad agency, getting stock shots off of high buildings and of copyright signed children in the park. His camera, now acting as an anchor to his workday, is losing its release for him. Daisy plops next to him, swinging her legs, careless to her unannounced and uninvited seating, sipping punch, and watching the dance floor through Jimmy’s lens. He had shifted the focus back to the whole room, keeping Thomas twirling Edith, who both never could seem to allow themselves to have any fun, in the corner. Daisy, still watching the others sway, lays her cheek on Jimmy’s shoulder, “Are you in love with Sybil?”

 “What? God, no.”

 “Well, I just thought that would be the obvious question, and no one had probably ever asked. So, I thought I’d ask,” Daisy sighs as she tries to meet Jimmy’s eyes, “You always have that look about you, you know? I know, because I think I have the same one. You’re not very happy, are you?

 “The answer is decidedly no,” Jimmy swallows, pointing almost harshly in the direction of the floral arch, and barely withholds a sneer, “Edward Courtenay’s arrived. Thomas's mate. Isn’t he so charming? Wounded soldier bit has to sour eventually, wouldn’t ya think? ”

 “Yes, Edward’s quite fine. Thomas could always use another friend. Thomas is…” as Daisy trails off, her eyes grow large and she wrap her fingers around his wrist, her grip painfully tight, “Oh, Jimmy. Thomas. It’s _Thomas_.”

 “Don’t trouble yourself with it, Daisy,” he rises, ripping his sleeve from her hold and swings his bag over his shoulder.

 “Jimmy, it’s Christmastime.”

 “You ever gonna stop using Patmore as an excuse and go for what _you_ want?” Jimmy’s lips snarl, gesturing at an alone Alfred. Daisy glares, opens her mouth to only snap it closed as her phone rings. She only glances from Alfred’s tall frame to her bag for only a moment before she lunges for the side pocket, and grappling to answer. Jimmy shrugs his shoulders, “Give ‘er my best,” and turns into the crowd.

* * *

 

Thomas and Edith were in the same year in college, Sybil and William just behind them. Thomas would pop around the Crawley’s on occasion to work on projects, met Sybil, and then started coming around a lot more. At that time, Thomas was a lot like a an abused dog, lashing out at everything and everyone, but still creeping forward for a pat on the head and as such, was not knee deep in people begging to be his friends. Sybil was a few years younger but she was kind to him in a way no one had ever been. They had carried as friends quietly, working together at her father’s Inn until Thomas found her kissing Tom Branson, one of the valet attendants beside a dumpster. The news of her being with child followed soon after. Thomas initially hated Tom for getting Sybil pregnant. When the time came, Sybil almost died in childbirth and both feeling distant from the Crawley family, held themselves up in the corner of the waiting room. Thomas's hand steady on Branson’s shaking knee until they got the good news and were invited back, before anyone else. They both stumbled down the hospital hallway, shoulders pressed against one another. They realized once they stopped screaming at each other that they were raging against the same system, and soon after become a quiet alliance of sorts. Thomas was still prickly outside of their circle, but he was trying. He finally wanted to belong.

 Then he held Sybbie, all squabbly and pink and alien looking and absolute perfection in an inexplicably tiny body. Tom, suddenly he was “Tom,” asked him to be her godfather and that, as they say, was that.

Jimmy and Alfred became flatmates, started working at the Downton Inn together the same day Tom and Sybil were discovered. Jimmy felt as though he was coming into a dream mid-stream. Everyone and everything had its right place, ten years worth of Coronation Street style relationships and trivialities. Cocky and brash, he was young then, just out of university, barely twenty-two. He interviewed with Thomas - Mr. Barrow - and Mr. Carson, who seemed consumed with keeping up the appearance that this early 1900’s themed Inn was actually in the 1910’s. Thomas was a more than competent second-in-command. He was not unkind, but gave biting criticism with the unaffected ease of someone who had frequently been the on the receiving end of it. He was warm to Sybil, tolerated Anna, and quietly undermined Carson. He liked Jimmy. Jimmy could tell immediately. His pout would easily melt whenever Jimmy came into the room, always gave Jimmy the easier shifts, and if Jimmy let Thomas run his hand across his shoulders on occasion and texted him late into the night, that was Jimmy’s business. It certainly made his work day go faster and easier, having the supervisor’s favor. Thomas was funny and quick, it wasn’t exactly a chore.

A few months into his post there, at a Christmas party, Thomas had followed him the restroom and drunkenly kissed him. Jimmy had created quite a scene, and in a rage-filled moment of pure cruelty demanded that Thomas be fired. The hotel community in England was a big one, but well-networked and one tarnished reputation in a position at this level, Thomas could never work in service again. After a few days to cool down and pressure from the Bates of all people, Jimmy relented. Jimmy had resented Thomas for months, for having the audacity to assume that Jimmy was like him. He found Thomas's love pathetic and let it be known. Thomas was withdrawn around him. The mountain brought to his knees by one case of unrequited love. Pathetic.

 Then one morning after a long night of cards and drinking, he woke up and Thomas and Branson were in the kitchen that Jimmy shared with Alfred. Thomas, with his white undershirt, flannel bottoms, and bare feet, as a peace offering, held out a plate of waffles, his insufferable sadness oozing in the air, and Jimmy was flooded with want. Love came a few weeks later, when Anna told Jimmy a story about how after John had been chosen for a position that Thomas believed he deserved, had devised the most ridiculous plan to get Bates fired and followed through on it It had backfired spectacularly and then Anna said, affection easily slipping into her voice, Thomas had peacocked into Downton the next morning, as if nothing had happened - unaffected, proud, brave, ready for punishment.

 And, oh, Jimmy loved. That was three years ago.

 Since then, Jimmy’s cruelty has ripen as Thomas's has faded. Now Jimmy is so furious all the time at the world, at the class system, at his new job, particularly with Thomas for making him feel all of this, he just can’t stop himself. Whenever he touches himself, he thinks of Thomas's quick wit and ass, imagine the flush his cheeks would have when Jimmy pushed inside of him. He didn’t just fantasize about bending Thomas over the nearest hard surface, but kissing his eyelids and whispering loveful nonsense in his ear. Jimmy is completely undone, insides threatening to sop out with the simplest push. The wedding, with its sentimental speeches that Thomas rolled his eyes at as a three year-old ruined his tailored suit and Edward Courtenay teasing Thomas, making him laugh. The big laugh where he shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, nearly sent Jimmy over the edge. Which is why when Thomas texted him that he was having a minor post-wedding emergency, Jimmy couldn’t tell him to piss off like he typically would, like he wanted to. That’s why he was facing a man few inches taller than himself, in a navy pea coat and he has a My Little Pony sticker, Sybbie’s work, Jimmy imagines, on the left pocket. Thomas is on his doorstep, pink-cheeked from the chill and gorgeous, devastatingly so.

 “‘Ello, Jimmy,” he says and gracefully places a truly horrid looking cake, with full icing and sprinkles and lot, into his hands, “It’s a vanilla gateau. Probably my favorite. Though, most people think it is a bit too much. But, I thought - well, I don’t know what I thought. Can I come in a minute?”

 Jimmy lies with perfect fluidity now, “Sure. I’ve a lunch meeting with a client, but I have a few minutes.”

 “You already have clients of your own? That’s bloody wonderful,” Thomas says, sidestepping into the loft.

 Jimmy watches as Thomas, who still after all these years can’t drop the silky composure, tries not to show how uncomfortable he is standing in Jimmy’s flat with wind-swept hair and store bought cake in his hands, before snatching said cake and sneering, “Yes, I do.”

 “Right, well. To business then. The wedding photographer has royally fucked up, as per, and the wedding video is ruined. It’s just I noticed that you were filming a lot that day and I was wondering if maybe I could steal some of your footage?”

 “My computer is a mess right now. I probably couldn’t even find it. I didn’t get much. Quite frankly, it’s crap, really.”  

 “I’m sure it’s not. You’re very talented. I just want one shot of a time when Sybil honestly thought she was more beautiful than Mary that isn’t all blurry and pink,” Jimmy turns to the kitchen, as Thomas reaches for his arm, “Listen, I know you never really warmed to me. I know I was total prat when we met initially. I was inappropriate. I misunderstood and I’m sorry. I was a fool. That, and my horrid taste in sweets, aside. I’m alright. I’ve grown up and through therapy and loads of cryin’,” Thomas chuckles before catching Jimmy’s eyes, “I’ve let go of a lot the anger I had. Life doesn’t have to be a chess game just because I had a shit time coming up. Anyway, I’d really like it if we could be friends.”

 “Friends. I think I can manage that.”

 “Thank you, Jimmy,” Thomas smiles and all Jimmy can wonder is if he smiles at the solider like this. Jimmy feels so exposed, as though he has been gutted alive, “Why don’t you make yourself useful and show me the shots you got?” Thomas walks over to his desk, clicks the mouse a few times to get the Apple awake.

 “Yeah, well, my hard-drive a mess right now, everything is mislabeled, It’ll probably take me a couple of hours to find it.”

 “It could be this one, called ‘Branson’s Wedding’ could it?” Jimmy is pleased Thomas’s attention is on the computer screen and not his face, which he is positive is portraying his utter devastation. He was never good at hiding, not like Thomas or Mary. His whole face reads his insides, that’s why he is thankful for the anger that guides him and hides him,“Oh, come on, then. Don’t be embarrassed,” Thomas chides as he clicks on the icon.

 Sigur Ros trickles through the speakers, Thomas grins as a radiant Sybil is walking down the aisle, “Oh, well done you.” The camera focuses on Thomas holding Sybbie as he carries her down the way, she’s grabbing at his livery, “Thank you, Jimmy. This is perfect.” Thomas dances with Sybil’s grandmother, Thomas scowling at Bates, Thomas sitting with Sybbie, cutting her strawberries and spinning her on the dance floor, Thomas laughing with Branson.  It’s all of him. All of it. “You stayed close,” Thomas whispers, his hand shaking over the mousepad.

 “Barrow. Thomas, I —” Thomas holds his hand up to silence him without ever letting his eyes leave the screen. Hoppípolla swells to a finish with Thomas looking to the sky, firework bursts reflected in his eyes. Thomas is shocked, rosy mouth hanging open,

 "But you hate me. You've always hated me. You barely tolerate me. You’re awful to me. You’re cruel. Making fun of me like this, when you know how I — that I’ll always—"

 Jimmy steps backwards shakily, reaching blindly behind him for his coat, looking anywhere but Thomas's tearfilled eyes, “I really do have a lunch. Transfer the file if you want,” he spares a look back, despite himself, to find Thomas covering his face with hands, visibly shaking, “It's self preservation, you understand.”

* * *

 

His phone vibrates on and off over the next couple of hours:

 **Sybil** : Call me when you have a chance, please. Thanks.

 **Gregson** : Edith would like me to relay that you are a cad. Consider it seconded.

 **Branson:** Why is my wife down in our kitchen with Thomas and not in my bed and why I do I think it has something to do with you?

 **Branson:** Sybil told me to stay out of it so I am staying out of it.

 **Branson:** I have to know why you’re always playing at him like this. He was just getting better.

 **Branson:** You’ve got some fucking nerve, you bastard.

 **Branson** : Lose my number.

* * *

 With the cards on the table, so to speak, Jimmy figures he has nothing to lose but his dignity. He understand why Thomas assumes cruelty, because its the only thing he has ever received. So, he writes down how he feels the best that he can on sheets of poster board, uploads Sufjan Steven’s holiday tracks to his phone and before he knows it he is at Thomas’s door, secretly pleased that Edward had not answered. Jimmy only gets to the third card before Thomas is knocking the iPhone off the dock with his foot and seizing him by the collar, “Why’re you doing this? Torturing me. I’m some joke, right? It’s not funny anymore, Jimmy. Take your game of poke the queer somewhere else.”

 “I want you - I want you to find happiness and yah have and that’s great, truly. I just couldn’t walk around with all of this anymore. I needed you to know.”

 “ _Happiness_?”

 “Courtenay, he’s - Thomas, he’s great.”

 “He is a nice man. We met in group. We’re both different, in our way. But, Edward is straight.”

 “Oh,” Jimmy is elated, but Thomas’s mouth is pinched, his jaw set, “You’re angry. Why?”

 “You know why,” Thomas hisses, “All this time I spent, pining away, beating myself up inside. Hating myself in way I haven’t since… For years and you just — you stupid, stupid man.” Tears are brimming his eyes before he turns from him, evening out his labored breath, retrieving a cigarette from his back pocket and lighting it. When Thomas turns back towards him his expression is stony and Jimmy feels twenty-two again, interviewing for a spot at Downton Inn. Watching Thomas now, he knows the look in his eyes so well. He’s seen it for years, tired and guarded, directed at Carson, Moseley, Mary, Bates, Anna, Alfred and now —

 “Don’t, Thomas. Don’t shut me out. Just don’t.”

 “Am I to believe you?” Thomas muses, absentmindedly flicking ashes into the snow, “You love me? Up until three hours ago you acted as if you wouldn’t spit on a man like me if I were on fire,” Jimmy opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, he is left with nothing but the snow and O Holy Night to aid him, “I am too old for this and I’m not your experiment. I will not be taken for a fool, again. I am sorry, but I won’t.”

 “Christ, Thomas,” He truly thinks this little of himself, Jimmy realizes. Looking at Thomas's grimace and tense shoulders, he hates Thomas's parents, his blithe sister. He has never wanted to catch a train to Bath and beat Crowborough’s face in anymore than he does right in this moment. He’s heard the stories. He remembers when Mrs. Patmore, before the accident and that horridness, sat Jimmy down and said to him, ‘You have to go easy on him, Thomas is a troubled soul.’ Like it was a secret, as if everyone didn’t already know, couldn’t see how Thomas just bled loneliness all over. Now, no longer a stubborn child, Jimmy runs a gloved hand across Thomas's cheek and the other man doesn’t even flinch. It’s as though Thomas can’t feel him at all. Thinking of his final card -  **To me, you are perfection and I think my blackened heart will always love you -**  Jimmy lets out a single strangled, frustrated whimper.

 “That’s enough, Jimmy,” Thomas says coolly, stamping out his cigarette out on the lamppost, turning his back walking towards the house, “Enough now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thomas and his voice are hard to pull off, especially in a modern context, because I think he would be a little less snide, just due to the nature of things. I hope this was alright and have happy holiday break, if you are lucky enough to have one. Cheers.


End file.
